


Avalon Space-Station

by kathkin



Series: Summerpornathon 2012 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Prostitution, Robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur does not like robots. He does not like brothels. A bot-brothel really is the worst of both worlds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avalon Space-Station

**Author's Note:**

> For challenge 3 at the 2012 summerpornathon: non-human characters.
> 
> So this one has an interesting backstory - I originally set out to write it for the AU challenge in the 2011 'thon, but I couldn't seem to get to the porn in less than a thousand words. Evidently I have grown as a writer since then because in 2012 I managed to get it into 750 words. Fuck yeah.

The trouble with Avalon was that it had everything. _Absolutely_ everything. That, Arthur supposed, was why space-stations shouldn’t be allowed to govern themselves. It had every kind of everything, up to and including a fine selection of brothels, which naturally the rest of the cadets in his squadron were just _dying_ to explore.

Arthur did not like robots. He did not like brothels. A robot-brothel was really the worst of both worlds. The staff somehow managed to pick up on his discomfort and had sent him the most eerily human-like robot they had.

“I’m Merlin,” said the robot. “I’ll be your companion for the evening.”

“But you’re –” Arthur began. The robot shushed him and stalked forward. Arthur backed away, silently cursing Gwaine for convincing him this was a good idea – he should’ve ordered them all back to base, he was the commander, so what if this was their last leave before they were deployed? His legs hit the edge of the armchair in the corner of the room, and he sank down into it, the robot straddling him, face twisted into a pleasant smile.

“Comfortable?” it said.

Up close, Arthur could tell it wasn’t human – the skin had a plasticy sheen to it, faint lines where it had been torn and repaired, and the eyes were a shade too large, he could see the tiny parts moving in the bright blue retinas as they contracted. “Not really,” he choked out.

“Let me help you with that.” The robot peeled off its shirt, revealing more patchwork skin, and set to work on Arthur’s.

He did not try and stop it, partly because he was too flabbergasted, and partly because, well, he’d already paid.

“When I said I wasn’t comfortable,” he said, voice half-muffled by his own shirt. “I meant –” the robot’s lips were on his neck, his shoulder, searching out the sensitive spots with uncanny precision, “– I meant I wasn’t comfortable doing this with a sex robot.”

“I’m not a sex robot.” It looked more amused than anything else, and its fingers brushed Arthur’s nipple, the pressure so _just-right_ that it had to be intentional. Arthur hissed. “I’m a reprogrammed waiter.”

“What,” said Arthur, but the robot was gone already, slinking down its chest, mouthing at his belly, toying with the hair. It was wet. He wasn’t sure what it was wet _with_ , but good god it was going over sensitive places he hadn’t even known he had. “What the hell even _are_ you.”

“I just told you,” it said. It was opening up Arthur’s trousers with one hand while the other gripped his thigh.

“No, I meant,” Arthur choked out, “what kind of robot?” He was starting to see the appeal of this. He was straining hard already and the robot had barely even got his dick out of his trousers.

“Emrys,” said the robot simply, then, as it shifted Arthur’s clothes aside to get at his cock, “Emrys series. Thirty-twenty-eight. Discontinued Thirty-Thirty-Three.” Its tone was altogether too casual.

“Why –” said Arthur, then broke off to catch his breath as its impossibly-wet mouth wrapped around the head of his dick. “Why’d they discontinue you?”

“Mmph,” said the robot. His dick slipped out of its mouth. “We made people uncomfortable. I think most of us have been scrapped. Now shut up and let me give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.” It went back in and took maybe a split second to get it right, exactly the right angle and pressure, tonguing at the sweet spot just below the head that never failed to turn Arthur’s brain to liquid.

“Sweet holy Space-Jesus,” he moaned.

Its mouth slipped off him wet a wet sound. “Merlin,” it said, “you can call me Merlin.” Arthur blinked down at it, and found it looking back up at him, an altogether too human look in its artificial eyes.

“Oh, you –” he said, “get on with it.”

It smiled a smile that was almost knowing, then slowly eased Arthur’s dick back into its mouth, that look never leaving its eyes. Arthur had to turn away, burying his face in the soft padding of the chair.

“Oh fuck,” he said, hips already thrusting upwards of their own accord, barely staying on the chair. “Oh fuck. Oh god, oh god.” He let out a whimper, than clamped his jaw shut.

It was so good it was impossible. Like some kind of magical blow-job machine. The robot sucked Arthur’s dick like he honestly loved it, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, but at the same time finding all the right movements with that cold, mechanical precision – because it wasn’t magic, he tried desperately to rationalise before he lost control, it was science, just science, it was programmed to analyse his body and find just the right way to pleasure it, that was all this was, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be real –

“Oh god,” he said after, gasping, “oh god, oh god.” The robot was climbing back onto his lap, wiping its mouth, hands stroking their way up his flanks, and he shivered at the sensation. It was too much, he was too sensitive.

“So,” said the robot brightly, “best you’ve ever had or best you’ve ever had?”

One of its hands reached his neck, fingers toying with the sweat-damp hair ther. It took a while for Arthur to answer. The robot was so _casual_ , like it hadn’t just stripped him bare and raw and exposed, like it hadn’t just reduced him to a writhing, begging mess on an ugly little chair in cramped room in a bot-brothel – he blinked, took a breath, and tried to respond in kind.

“Well, you could have taken your time over it a bit more,” he said.

“You wanted it quick,” said the robot.

“I shall complain to your owner,” said Arthur.

“Don’t have an owner,” said the robot. “I own myself.” Then it kissed him, taking Arthur so much by surprise that he flinched back, away from its strange, wet mouth. “Calm down,” it pressed the palm of one hand against his face. “I’m clean already. And you like to be kissed.”

“What?” said Arthur, but then it kissed him again, slow and gentle, lips pulling at his – just the way he liked best, of course it would be.

“You like being kissed after,” it said, one arm slipped around his neck. “You like being petted. You like being held.”

“You can’t –” said Arthur. It kissed him again. “You can’t know that. How do you know that?”

It made a contented sound, face pressed against his neck. He felt its lips brush his ear, sucking on the lobe briefly, and the sensation made him gasp – he’d never told anyone about that before. His stomach lurched. “You looked like the type,” it said. It ran one hand through his hair, and Arthur surrendered, clinging to it, wrapping his arms around the impossible, inhuman creature in his arms and holding on tight.  



End file.
